


Ain't Nothin' But Mammals

by voicedimplosives



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Doggy Style, Everyone is a Virgin and They're Figuring It Out, F/M, Fluff, Mating Habits of Jakku's Animal Kingdom, Oral Sex, PWP, Rey is Naive and Yet Very Practical, Rey is the David Attenborough of Jakku, Smut, Smut-Based Reasons, Soft Ben Solo, They're Not Using the Force because of Reasons, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voicedimplosives/pseuds/voicedimplosives
Summary: Rey and Ben aren't exactly experts when it comes to sex. Ben has watched some holoporn, Rey has seen a lot of animals mating on Jakku — and that's about it.But! They're both extremely eager to figure it out.So, take: two space virgins, one somewhat unorthodox frame of reference, a whole lot of loving, fluffy smut and what do you get? This filth.





	Ain't Nothin' But Mammals

**Author's Note:**

> much love to [arroways](https://arroways.tumblr.com) who heroically beta'd this into the coherent smutlet you see before you!

There is so much fighting to be done, before the war is won. But with the help of the abdicator Benjamin Solo, who returns to his mother in her hour of need and alters the course of a crucial final battle — it is won.

 

In the quiet, smoke-filled aftermath, Rey and Ben share a meaningful look. Her hand clasped tightly in his, only a perfectunctory word of goodbye to their allies, they board the Millennium Falcon and strike out for the Unknown Regions, in dire need of time alone to sort out this — _connection_ — they share.

. . .

 

Luggabeasts don't breed. They are cybernetic-organic hybrids, cobbled together in grimy underground laboratories in the Western Reaches and exported to brutal planets like Jakku, where inhabitants are in need of obedient beasts of burden that are both mindless and easily trained.

 

They produce no offspring.

 

Steelpeckers do, but the deed is usually conducted high above the ground, hidden in the recesses of abandoned, deteriorating starships. Rey has, on occasion, managed to catch sight of a coupling while scavenging; each time it had been a frightful, furious affair. Lots of flapping wings and snapping beaks.

 

It was the same for Bloggins, Ripper-Raptors, and Vworrkas. Aggressive, unpleasant-sounding avian sex, from the lot of them.

 

Nightwatcher worms _must_ breed, because Rey has glimpsed them both in their infancy and at full maturity. She imagines whatever they do to procreate, it happens like most of their lives: deep beneath the Jakku sands.

 

The Pole Snake has fearsome fangs, and whenever she'd seen one on Jakku — she hadn't stuck around to study their mating habits. From time to time, though, she’d found the broken shells of their eggs within the unused corners of her rusted out AT-AT domicile.

 

One time she saw a tiny Gnaw-Jaw insect climb atop another one, right next to the rotting corpse of a Skittermouse — presumably to mate. But honestly, to Rey's eyes, it just resembled a fight to the death.

 

She observed two Thissermounts enter into coitus, once, as she was passing by an anchorite hermitage out beyond the Goazon Badlands. They are hispid, stump-legged creatures used as steeds by the ascetic men, and when they mate — there's a great deal of twitching their bony hips at one another, followed by a lot whinnying and thrusting. Rey thought _that_ looked pretty violent too, and didn't stick around to see how it ended.

 

The Skittermice mate all the time, with reckless abandon and no regard for their surroundings. Many mornings, Rey would wake to find them copulating inside her boots, placed beside her makeshift hammock while she slept. They're shameless little creatures, engaging in rapid blink-and-you-miss-it intercourse in the middle of Rey's home, even in broad daylight. Sometimes even going so far as to mate while she was _trying_ to enjoy her ration of synthpaste supper.

 

There wasn't much to learn from watching them: just a bunch of squeaky twittering, the occasional squealed protest. It was usually over too quickly to be very educational.

 

The Happabores, though — they are the most shameless of all, and consequently, she has learned the most about the act from them. Twice a year they migrate towards Jakku’s oases, of which Niima Outpost is one. The Happabore couplings that Rey has been unlucky enough to witness were brutish and unstoppable, one massive squat porcine body writhing atop another under the hot desert sun.

 

She does not remember those times fondly. They would be at it for a week seemingly without rest, and their protracted mating often sent scavengers and tradesmen alike scrambling indoors, repulsed by the sight and sounds and _smells_ of Happabore copulation. Even with the rolling dunes between her home and the outpost, Rey would sleep with cotton jammed in her ears during those weeks in order to block out their squealing, bellowing cries.

 

Then of course there were the residents and scavengers of the Niima Outpost. Teedo, Human, Crolute, Kyuzo, dozens of other species of traveler she saw pass through her barren home planet — she never got close enough to any of them to learn about their mating practices. Sometimes when she stayed later than she intended at the outpost — the sun's rays lengthening and casting everything in a fiery golden hue while she processed the wares she'd scavenged that day — she would smell alcohol on the dry desert winds, hear riotous laughter and moaning spilling out of the nearby cantinas.

 

She rarely ventured inside, and the few times she did — she learned more about drunken debauchery than she did about the mechanics of intercourse, human or otherwise.

 

All of this is to say: Rey doesn't know very much about sex. Human sex, anyway. But sex in general, really, if we're being honest.

 

. . .

 

They've been kissing for two hours, and Rey feels like she's really got the hang of it.

 

You've got to keep your lips soft, not hold your jaw too tight. Put your tongue in his mouth, but not so far in that you choke him. And it helps, she's found, if you learn what your kissing partner likes. Rey knows she could probably use the Force, ease her way into his mind and suss out exactly what turns him on, but —

 

There's something so _thrilling_ about this unhurried journey of discovery they're taking. Here they don't have to be mystical beings weighed down by their past — they can just be a man and a woman, learning each other’s bodies.

 

For example: the first time she opens her mouth and runs her tongue along the roof of Ben’s mouth, he thrusts his pelvis up into her with so much force he almost unseats her from where she has perched herself upon his lap.

 

And another: when she twists her fingers into his long sable mop of hair and tugs, he lets out a wanton moan. It's a nice sound. Much nicer than the awful racket from the Steelpeckers or the Happabores.

 

One more: when she runs the calloused pad of her thumb down the scar that cleaves his right cheek, her scar, his arms around her waist squeeze impossibly tight, like a Pole Snake coiling around its victim. Only Rey doesn't feel like a victim when he does it — she feels like a _victor_.

 

She's seated astride him in the cockpit of the Falcon now, running her hands across the muscled planes of his broad back, twisting her hips in little circles — for some reason, she's not really sure. The friction just feels nice, she supposes.

 

“Rey,” he says, panting against the sharp edge of her jaw, his big hands spanning her waist, “I want to take you to bed.”

 

“But I'm not tired,” she protests, grinding down against him. “I want more of _this_.”

 

“No, I mean—” he pauses, letting out a groan when she lets one hand drift over his shoulder and down to where she once saw his nipple.

 

“I like it when I do this to myself,” she says. She pinches him through his tunic. “Do you like it, too?”

 

“Kriff, yes!” he snaps, his hips bucking up. “Come on. Captain's quarters, Rey, let's—let’s go to bed.”

 

“Will we copulate in there?” she asks, pouting, and the question seems to give him pause. He draws back, gazing up at her with concern.

 

“Don't—you want to?”

 

“Yes!” says Rey. An ebullient grin breaks out across her face. “Very much.”

 

Ben inhales sharply, and his nostrils flare out when he exhales. She likes the expression on his face — like a good kind of constipation, sort of like the intense look of concentration he gets when he's reading something on his datapad or when they're studying the _Aionomica_ together. Only more — heated.

 

Rey feels a little hot, suddenly, seeing Ben look at her like that. She stands up, ripping her thick leather belt out of its buckle and dropping it to the floor. Her tunic, undershirt, and brassiere follow, yanked over her head. Ben's hands are gripping her thighs, his long fingers pressing against the tender skin just under her bottom. He's winded, like when they've been sparring for a while and she's backed him into a corner, forcing him to surrender his weapon.

 

“Have you—done this before? S—sex?” he whispers.

 

His hands travel while he speaks, and when they glide past her waistband, up and over the ticklish skin of her belly, she thinks maybe she understands what all that Skittermice squeaking was about. She feels a bit like squeaking herself, especially when his hands settle over her breasts, one in each of his big warm palms.

 

“I've spent a lot of time thinking about it,” she hedges.

 

“Rey—”

 

“I haven't—done it. But I studied the animals, back on Jakku,” she confesses, a bit breathless herself from his gentle ministrations.

 

He shakes his head, a tender smile quirking his lips, then rolls both of her nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers.

 

“Like that?” he checks. “You like—that?”

 

“Mmm,” she hums, propping herself up with one hand on his shoulder when her legs go weak like a jellied protein cube. “Pinch, just a little.”

 

She shows him, her spare hand wandering back to his clothed chest and squeezing in demonstration. He reciprocates, and the sharp burst of pleasure-pain, coming from Ben — _at last, this is finally happening_ — _does_ make her legs give out.

 

“You?” she volleys back, belatedly, as his hands return to her waist to support her. Ben leans in, and takes one of her nipples in his mouth. Feeling his soft tongue laving its way around her areola makes everything located beneath her belt _throb_ , with — something.

 

“Have you—”

 

“No,” he answers, speaking around her breast, with a wary glance up at her. “But—”

 

She smiles down at him. “I don't care. I'm glad. We can learn together.”

 

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can. Come on. Let's go.”

 

“Okay Ben, I'll go to bed with you. As long as you _promise_ we won't be sleeping,” she chides.

 

“I promise. By all of Alderaan's ghosts, I promise.”

 

. . .

 

In the captain’s quarters, they get distracted, and end up kissing a little while longer. Ben picks her up like she weighs nothing, his hands gripping her behind while Rey wraps her legs around his waist; he shuffles towards one of the ceramisteel walls until she feels it, cold and solid, at her back.

 

Pinned like this, she can really grind her clothed crotch against the front of his trousers. The resulting heat in her core, at the places where their bodies meet — it's wonderful. It feels like she's going somewhere, like she's climbing her way up the rough hewn stone steps of Ahch-To once more, in search of something.

 

Will it be the same as her hands down her pants, furiously rubbing away, during all those lonely nights on Jakku?

 

Rey is ready to find out – is on the brink of discovery – when Ben pulls his lips away from hers and gingerly returns her to her shaky legs.

 

“We're wearing too much clothing,” he says, panting.

 

“You're right,” she agrees, and crosses the quarters to the kajak hair-lined bed. Collapsing down onto it, careful not to bump her head on the yellow patent leather overhang, she pulls off one boot then the other, before wiggling out of her trousers and undergarments.

 

And the kissing has been fun, it's made her feel good, but there's this strange sense of emptiness inside her, a clenching and unclenching heat between her legs, under her belly. In her womb, perhaps? Rey isn't certain, but she thinks she knows the solution —

 

It's time for them to mate.

 

So without further ado, she rolls over on the violet mattress and positions herself on her hands and knees, legs spread wide, presenting herself for Ben's perusal.

 

“Okay,” she purrs, her body flush with excitement, “I'm ready.”

 

The absolute silence she's met with, save for Ben's heavy breathing, goes on for so long that eventually Rey twists her neck, trying to get a glimpse at what's taking him so long.

 

Ben is standing where she left him in the middle of the room, although now his pale skin is completely revealed to her hungry gaze. He is staring at her, his sculpted chest rising and falling unevenly. He looks — wounded, almost. Dazed.

 

When he notices her staring back at him, he sputters, “You don't want any, uh, to do something—before?”

 

Rey scrunches her nose, then frowns at him. “What something?” she asks, plaintive. “I thought we were having sex, what goes before? We've been kissing for _hours_ , Ben, I'm really wet down there.”

 

“Yeah,” he gasps, dark eyes shifting back to her sex. “You are.” He takes himself in his fist, stroking from the root to the tip, gathering the moisture dripping from there, then slowly, slowly making his way back down. He approaches the bed — one step, then two, then close enough that if Rey wanted, she could reach back and put her hand over his, assuming the job of stroking him.

 

She wants to. So she does.

 

Ben's penis — cock, she reminds herself, remembering a joke Jessika told her once — is not quite like any she's seen before. Many, many times bigger than a Skittermouse’s, but much smaller and nicer-looking than a Thissermount's or Happabore’s. It's the same satiny soft texture as his skin is elsewhere, but whereas most of his body is alabaster-white and hard, as if chiseled from rock, his cock is a livid purplish red, and hard in a different way — swollen, throbbing when she brushes her fingertips down its length.

 

Rey decides she likes it, even if she has some doubts about fitting it in the cleft where only her fingers have ventured before. She's assuming, of course — based off the horrors she’s witnessed at the Niima Outpost, which she'll never be able to unsee — that between her legs is where that thing is headed.

 

It's big, and thick, and hot to the touch — but that clenching emptiness has become a curious sort of ache, a lot more intense than it's ever been before, even during her monthly bleeding. Her hand on him tightens, and watching his eyes watch her hand as it slides along the length of him, Rey thinks that whatever happens next — it's going to be a lot better than the nightmare that is Happabore copulation.

 

She swipes the tip of her forefinger over the slit, where pearlescent fluid is beading up, then brings her hand back to her mouth to taste.

 

Salty, bitter.

 

“Rey—” he coughs.

 

“Better flavor than synthpaste, I'll give you that much,” she observes. “Aren't we going to—”

 

“Do you know what foreplay is?” he asks, one his warm hands settling on the small of her back before stroking up to her shoulder blade, then back down again.

 

She shakes her head. _Oh, that feels nice. Loving. Possessive,_ she thinks. Rey likes it.

 

He clears his throat. “Haven't you ever watched any—uh, holoporn?” His hand continues its passage up and down her back — gentle, firm strokes.

 

She rolls her eyes and grins back at him. “On Jakku? With what tech?”

 

“Since then?”

 

“No, I've been a little busy staying alive and winning a war, thanks,” she teases. Another impatient quiver at her core has her sighing, “Ben—are you going to mount me, or not?”

 

Ben's cheeks have been a little flushed, not as dark as his cock but certainly a pale pink, but at her question everything from his clavicles to the tips of his ears goes a lovely shade of mottled scarlet.

 

“Huh?” he asks, breathily. “I—”

 

 _Oh,_ Rey thinks. _I need to entice him — that must be what he means by foreplay._

 

It's something she saw the bristly roan-colored female Thissermount do to attract the male that one time, right before he climbed atop her.

 

She glances back at Ben, who seems to be in wordless communion with the swollen, sopping folds of her sex. Tentatively, she gives her hips a little shake.

 

Ben makes a strangled choking sound, then begins coughing so hard Rey wonders if he's swallowed his own tongue.

 

“Aren't you enticed?” she asks.

 

Collecting himself, he gives her a small, secret smile that she knows is only for _her_.

 

“I don't know, Rey,” he says. “Maybe you should do that again, just to make sure.”

 

She returns his smile with her own, and shimmies her hips from side to side a little more vigorously.

 

“How's that?” she asks. “Ready to mate now?”

 

“I've _been_ ready. I'm just—going to touch you, first. To make sure you are,” he tells her. “Okay?”

 

Rey nods, curious, entranced.

 

She feels his fingers at her entrance, collecting the moisture that has leaked all over her lips down there, and then one finger eases its way inside.

 

It's — nice. His finger is much bigger than hers. Longer, too. There's a little discomfort when he adds a second, begins a steady rhythm in, out — but it abates quickly, especially when his thumb reaches forward to rub at that little bundle of flesh that makes her feel so _good_.

 

Rey whimpers. This is a lot of stimulation compared to her own rote masturbation. She's always valued efficacy and efficiency over sensuality, preferring to rub hard and fast until she felt the wave wash over her and she could relax into sleep.

 

But Ben is taking his time. He kneels next to the bed, disappearing from view as his mouth joins his fingers on her sex. The feeling when his tongue licks a broad flat stripe up her folds makes her huff out a choked, “Kriff, Ben!”

 

This is entirely new territory. As far as Rey is aware, no animal on Jakku attempts to kiss the genitals of its mate. Should she be disgusted? Is this normal? Rey finds, when Ben's tongue joins his thumb at the top of her sex, his nose prodding at her entrance, that she doesn't give two bantha ticks if it's normal or not — it feels _marvelous_.

 

And the longer he's down there, the more vigorously his tongue and fingers work at her in tandem, synchronized, with one goal in mind, the better it feels. She's climbing, up up up those stone steps again —

 

“Ben,” she whines.

 

“It's okay,” he hums, against her wet flesh. “Let it happen.”

 

And then, and then. The heavy throbbing pleasure that has been building to a climax brings her up and over, like summiting the windy peaks of Ahch-To, her hips rocking of their own accord now as she presses her sex back against Ben's face to draw out this glorious quivering sensation. He's right there to see her through it, one hand holding fast to each of her cheeks, using only his wicked, beautiful mouth to help her come back down.

 

“Ah,” she moans, incapable of saying anything more eloquent.

 

“Rey,” he sighs, when the convulsive pleasure has quieted and he stands, stepping away to wipe clean his face on his discarded cloak.

 

“Hmm?” she hums, voice lifted in question. She lowers herself down onto her elbows, because her arms have grown tired and shaky from holding her weight, then looks back at him from the corner of her eyes.

 

“Nothing,” he says, climbing onto the mattress, mindful of the low-hanging ceiling of the pod-like bedframe. “I just wanted to say your name.”

 

“Hey, I still want to mate,” she protests, when he makes to collapse beside her.

 

“I—really? I thought you might want—” he starts, then chokes again when she wiggles her hips, still raised aloft.

 

“Mount up, Solo,” she teases, because something about that word makes his eyes bug out wide, makes his face go all dumbfounded, his mouth hang open. She adds, in case he's not sold, “That was so nice, really, but—I want something bigger now. So can you put it in already?”

 

That does the trick. Ben's eyes narrow with determination. He rises and settles on his knees behind her, one hand on her hip and the other guiding himself inside.

 

It pinches. Maybe she wasn't as ready as she thought, maybe she's as ready as she'll ever be, but — while he may be smaller than a Happabore, Ben Solo is still _very_ well endowed.

 

She keens as she feels her flesh part for him and make room for this thick, hot intrusion.

 

“You,” he says, with a shallow thrust, leaning over until his torso is resting on her back. “Are.” Another little thrust, a little deeper, and _by the eternal_ , does she feel herself stretching to accommodate him now. “So.” They're almost there, she can see it when she lets her head loll, glancing down her own torso to where they are joined. “ _Feral_ ,” he concludes, thrusting in to the hilt.

 

There he freezes, her bottom nestled up against his pelvis, his balls resting against the folds beneath her entrance.

 

“Why?” she asks, “This isn't feral, it's natural.”

 

He thrusts, and it's so good — the pinch, the stretch, it's all mellowing out into slick, hot bliss — so she can't be blamed when her next words come out in a series of husky moans: “It's not so—different—from the—Happabores.”

 

“Don't,” he grunts, “don't talk about Happabores when we're doing this, when I'm inside you.” Another pulse of his hips, his full lips against her neck, open-mouthed kisses, this almost makes up for all those years she spent alone without anyone to touch her —

 

“Rey, can't you feel this? Between us? This isn't animal, it's spiritual — sacred,” says Ben, picking up speed and force, driving into her now in a way that makes her breasts sway, pushing her across the bed inch by inch.

 

“Ah,” she says, when one of his arms snakes under her body and across her breasts, his hand coming to hold her by the front of shoulder, effectively immobilizing her. “It's both, I want both.”

 

“You want both?” he heaves, still mouthing at that spot right below her ear that he knows she likes. “Then you shall have both, my love.”

 

For a time after, there are no more words — just Ben plunging into her, holding onto her, his hand straying from the ball of her shoulder to paw at her breast once more. It's good, all of it — his warm palm, the other slipping back between her thighs to fondle that sensitive flesh he now knows will set her off, his cock thrusting away — long, solid strokes — an even, patient rhythm that soon enough she's not sure she can withstand.

 

Suddenly, Ben shifts, his thrusts aimed downwards, and she feels the ridged head of his cock bumping against something that makes her legs shiver with anticipation, her stomach swoop, her whole body begin to perspire.

 

“What—” she starts, twisting her neck to look at his face. He gives her that barely-there smile, then begins hammering away at it, and _mother of moons_ , Rey _hisses_ at him, baring her teeth, lips curled.

 

It's not that she's trying to be feral or animalistic, it's just that it feels so _good_. She thinks that she understands now what the Thissermounts were on about.

 

She feels vulnerable, so at his mercy and so possessed and when he leans forward to tug her jaw back, ply her lips with his own — still pummeling her with his cock — she _snarls_. Honest to entropy, she snarls into his mouth.

 

“That's it,” he grits out. “That's my little desert creature, my Skittermouse, sing for me—”

 

Ben has one hand kneading her where they're joined, one hand at her breasts, she's meeting him for every thrust, and Rey is once more ascendant.

 

“Can you come again, Rey?”

 

“C—come where?” she wheezes. “I'm right here.”

 

“Come. Orgasm. Like you did before,” he rumbles in her ear, her body bouncing from each of his heavy thrusts.

 

“I—stars, I don't know,” she whimpers.

 

“You're _going_ to know, when we're finished—you won't be able to forget.”

 

She moans by way of response. His cock, his hands, his mouth, Ben, her love, who came back to the light for her — she thinks he may be right.

 

“Kriff, Rey, please come,” Ben begins to beg. “Please come so _I_ can come, I'm so close but I want to feel you and I don't know if I can wait—”

 

She wants that. She wants to feel that, to feel _him_ feel that inside her. But she needs—something.

 

In a raspy whisper she pleads, “Can—please, can you bite me? Like the Thissermounts do, on the back of the neck.”

 

“Uh,” he chuffs, brow furrowed and craning his neck to look into her eyes, ensure that she's serious.

 

Rey nods. “Bite me to keep me still, and then do the thing with your hips, thrust really fast,” she instructs.

 

“Whatever you want,” he says, his eyes glazed with lust, lidded, his mouth hanging open.

 

The hand on her breast slips down to span her stomach, flat, fingers spread wide, almost spanning the width of her — he pulls, forcing her to arch her back. Ben gathers her loose hair in his fisted right hand and pulls it away from her neck, shifts over just a bit, and then —

 

He sinks his bottom teeth around the hard knobby vertebra right at the top of her spine, his upper teeth into the nape of her neck — holding fast, while he drives into her, _hard_.

 

“Oh, stars!” she howls, head bowed, whining, mewling, squeaking even — _oh is that why?_ — and this is so much better than her hand down her pants at bedtime, this is like liquid joy surging through her veins, this _must_ be what coming means because her whole body is singing out that she's arrived —

 

Ben's teeth feel amazing at her neck, he's mating with her and he is such a good strong male, and also so very kind and soft for her and it's more than she could have hoped for, giving her everything she asks for, working so hard to make her happy.

 

Rey thinks she understands now why the Happabores do this a solid seven days. A non-stop week of this, with Ben, sounds just _fine_ to her.

 

“Kriff,” he gasps, letting go when he's rocked her through the fluttering upheaval of her orgasm. “Good?”

 

“Yes yes yes,” she chants. Ben pinches her face lightly in his hand and turns her head so that she's looking directly into his eyes when he jerks his hips, spastic and frantic —once, twice, a final time — and groans softly.

 

 _Did we just breed?_ she thinks.

 

No, that's silly. The resistance medic gave her a contraceptive implant, although things were so chaotic at the time there wasn't much more than a rushed _‘get to know and trust your partner’_ speech before it was — _back to the front lines, Rey! There's a war to win, Rey!_

 

 _But what if I didn't have the implant?_ Rey wonders, as he pulls out of her with a gentle kiss. His seed is inside her — what if it were taking root, her belly soon to be all swollen with child like the Skittermice’s get?

 

She decides, then and there, lowering herself onto her side and scooting towards Ben's outstretched arms — that might not be so bad.

 

Maybe they could find a quiet planet to live on, procreate, and raise a child together. Maybe they could have lots of them, a big family bursting with love and acceptance and warmth and the Force wrapped around them all, keeping them safe, protecting them.

 

“Ben,” she whispers, petting his scarred, sweaty cheek. He stares at her adoringly, eyebrows raised. “I think I want to breed with you someday.”

 

He laughs at that, just a small surprised chuckle but unmistakably a laugh. “Maker, the things you say, Rey.”

 

Ben brings his lips back down to hers. Rey's eyes flutter shut, warm contentment rolling through, soothing the lingering fire of her lust. He shifts his head back a moment later so he can meet her gaze.

 

“And—I want that too,” he adds, lips quirked, eyes shining.

 

. . .

 

_“Oh, ooh,” moans the Twi’lek woman, scratching her nails down her human partner's muscular back. Her lithe aquamarine-hued body writhes beneath his._

_“That's it, that's it, take it,” he grunts, thrusting down into her. “Crink, you're so hot.”_

_“Oh frang, touch my lekku, baby,” she mewls, bringing his hand up to the long fleshy appendage that protrudes from the crown of her head._

 

_“You like that?” he asks—_

 

“Okay, I think I get the idea,” says Rey.

 

At that, Ben leans over her, switching a flip on the bedside entertainment system console. The holovid shimmers, then vanishes.

 

“So—that’s how _all_ people do it? On their back?” she asks, cringing. “Am I—a freak?”

 

“You're my first and my only, Rey,” he reminds her, in that infuriatingly mild way of his. “I have no basis for comparison.”

 

“Ben.”

 

He pulls her naked body, draped over his, closer, so he can nuzzle at her cheek with his nose. Rey sighs, feeling slightly mollified.

 

“You  _asked_ to watch it, remember? But—I may have seen some others. Where they do it—how we did,” he murmurs.

 

Something in her gut twists, anxious, afraid. “Do you—didn’t you like how we did it?”

 

He nods against her temple, where his lips have stationed themselves. “Yeah, I did. A lot, Rey.” He pauses, a contemplative lull settling between them, before he adds —

 

“Just, some time we could try it—like in the vid.”

 

“Facing each other,” she clarifies.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Lying down, on my—back?” She's never seen anything like that on Jakku, but then, she never saw anything pretend to eat its partner's groin like Ben did for her — and that worked pretty well. _Really well_ , she amends, when she shifts and her sex twinges, well-used and pleasantly sore.

 

“It's romantic,” he says.

 

“I thought _our_ way was romantic,” she mutters, frowning.

 

He nods, smoothing the crease in her brow with his thumb. “It was, I like our way, just—”

 

“You want me on my back when we mate,” she concludes.

 

His eyes flick down to her chest, pressed against his. “Not all the time. We can try it, see if you like it. I can look at your face, and your—”

 

“Teats?”

 

“ _Breasts_ , Rey, not— _Force_ , please call them breasts,” he chokes out.

 

“Okay,” she sighs. “Whatever you want to call them. What's the big _deal_ about them? They don't even do anything.”

 

“I just want to look at you,” he huffs, looking away.

 

 _Oh._ Something in her chest tightens at the sullen manner of that gesture. 

 

“You really like them, huh? I catch you sneaking peeks all the time,” she notes, beaming. Rey pushes herself up to a sitting position, one hand on the mustard-toned frame overhead so she doesn't bump her skull, then crawls over Ben's prone body.

 

“I really do,” he breathes, his hands coming up to cup them as she straddles him.

 

“Did you know,” she says, “that when the Happabores mate, they do so for a _whole_ week?”

 

“Rey,” he grunts, “ _please_ stop talking about the—wait, what?”

 

She smirks, then wrinkles her nose when it turns into a full-on smile. “Well, they only go into heat twice a year, and—they just copulate, ceaselessly! For a week straight, can you _imagine_?”

 

“That’s—a lot of sex—” He swallows, eyes unblinking, staring up at her with reverence.

 

“If giant ugly pig creatures can go for a week, _surely_ we can too.” She gyrates her hips, rubbing herself against him and biting her lip giddily when she feels him begin to twitch with interest.

 

“Well, Rey,” says Ben, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, “we can certainly try.”


End file.
